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By a Delta in Northern California
Tires on the unsurfaced road propel
different calibered bullet shells
to the edge of the embankment
where unlicensed fishermen fight
the current and reel lines in
that stick in swamped cattails.
Past the marina and the different
kinds of boats parked
on the other side
of the water,
I sit
alone on a mesh fold up chair
just before the dead end,
facing the spot where the
cove opens up to the delta
and the streaking wind
over the acres of asparagus fields behind me
can slap my skin
and fill the empty space
of where my body used to be.
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